


Golden Knight and His Lady Fair (One Shots)

by Ladylauralue



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5846125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladylauralue/pseuds/Ladylauralue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots about Princess Abigail/Kathryn and Fredrick/Jim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He first met her as she was storming from her father’s study, too upset to care about running into any one. Fredrick didn’t quite manage to get out of her way in time, her shoulder running into his and pushing him away. She didn’t stop though, didn’t blame him for the contact or demand an apology for which he was grateful. Most nobles he’d met seemed to have a vendetta against knights who’d worked their way to the higher levels of the court. The woman saw him as low or some kind of fashionable new toy, and so he avoided them when he was able.

He continued down the hall, still adjusting to the idea that this was to be his home for the foreseeable future. Midas needed knights of a keener sense of bravery and intelligence, and when he’d seen Fredrick at the gladiatorial tourney, he’d insisted on talking to him. They’d talked for hours, and whatever King Midas had been looking for, he’d found enough of it in Fredrick to insist on becoming his patron. Two weeks later he came to the castle, travel worn and longing only for a bed, he’d instead been sent to the King. He regained composure before walking in.

^^^^^^

_He’d only seen her once before he saw her racing away in her car. Something he couldn’t name pushed him to go after her, something he ignored until the next morning. He regretted that when he found Kathryn Nolan’s car abandoned by the road. He drove back to the sheriff’s station to tell Sheriff Swan, relieved when she didn’t ask what he’d been doing there. He wouldn’t have been able to answer her if he’d tried._

^^^^^^

Six months into life at court, he was happy to learn that this was a place he could consider a home of some kind. Better than a sport fighter could imagine from the muddy fighting pits where carnage and hunger were the closest companions. Midas kept no one in his court who was not useful and intelligent. He had no need of court intrigue or politics, and did his best to ensure that there was little reason to whisper in dark corridors.

He’d found one very beautiful reason to do so. Princess Abigail, a storm of emotions and golden hair had surprised him with her compassion and willingness to serve her people. She’d received permission from her father to visit some of the poorer villages with an escort and Fredrick had been chosen for the task. It didn’t take long for her to wear him down with questions; questions that turned into conversations along the road. Roadside conversations turned into meetings in the corridors of her father’s castle. He was waiting for her now, torchlight casting shadows in the hall he paced.

He heard her footsteps, intentionally loud, before she spoke. “Fredrick? I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” she whispered loudly. “Father and I got to talking.”

She slid into his arms, fitting snugly under his chin and he sighed. Princess Abigail had silently suffered under her father’s curse, going without common contact for years. Her father wouldn’t risk her life, and people of the court put her on a pedestal. She had grown used to ignoring the want for simple contact, until Fredrick had offered to help her onto his horse after her own had hurt itself. She was surprised at the offer, and accepted his hand. This lead to her brushing against his arm to get his attention on another outing, then to him leading her through a crowded marketplace by her arm. They spoke about anything that came to mind, filling what would be silence with whimsy, politics, news and ideas. Fredrick soon found he cherished the time away from court, and not only to be out under open sky again. Princess Abigail let down her guard away from the cold stone walls of her home, and little by little, allowed him to see more of her as she truly was.

“Princess Abigail,” he whispered as he pulled away with a bow.

Abigail shook her head, her golden hair falling more around her shoulders. “Please, Fredrick. Just Abigail.”

He hated denying her that. Her name, so simple a request, it was on the tip of his tongue to say it. But he bit his lip, trapping her name before it could escape. “I’m sorry, I cannot.”

The smile so often dancing in her eyes dimmed away, and she suddenly looked more tired than she had a moment ago. “Forgive me, Sir Fredrick. I am unwell. I bid you a good evening.” Without another word she returned the way she came.

^^^^^^

_When he heard that Mrs. Nolan had been found, hand been kept a prisoner in someone’s basement, an uncharacteristic rage filled his heart, narrowing his focus. He barely knew the woman, but something in him insisted that he should be nearby, in case she needed him, in case he could protect her._

^^^^^^

Ahead of him on the road, Princess Abigail sat upon her horse, the very picture of regality. She’d barely spoken a word to him since he’d last refused to abandon her title. He was fairly certain the only reason he accompanied her was she trusted him above all the other knights of her father’s court. As little as that counted, it was something. He tried not to notice her stiff posture, the fact that she never turned her head even though there were wildflowers in bloom, or the ever increasing silence between them.

They were nearly to the village when he heard a growling roar behind him. He turned and was met with the sight of a young Chimera advancing on them. “Abigail, run!” he yelled as he turned his mount to charge at the monster. This wasn’t the first time he’d fought one of the creatures, but it was the first time he was a free man, it was the first time he had something to lose.

The battle was brief but bloody, the Chimera young and inexperienced and unprepared for an attacking snack wrapped in steel. Though he was unhorsed by the snake-end of the beast, he was able to turn it to his advantage, cutting up through the underbelly to the vital organs. Battle instincts still raging, though more quietly, he paced backwards away from the carcass and spun around, looking for Abigail. She hadn’t run far away, only out of reach of the flames, and was running back to him, horse abandoned in her haste.

He winced as she ran into him, in part concerned about the pain such force might cause her, and in part knowing he was covered in blood and filth, more than unworthy of her arm on his, or the receding fear in her eyes over him.

“Fredrick?” she asked, her eyes running over his face and form, seeking signs of injury. “Are you alright?”

With a small struggle, Fredrick pulled his helmet off and tried to smile for his princess. She had tears in her eyes, and he knew she should never cry, not over him. “I’m alright, Abigail”

She laughed, a bright sound in his small world of destruction and leaned closer, ignoring the dirt and grime and blood spattered all over him. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his shaggy golden brown hair, smiling as she pulled him closer. He didn’t think anything of it when her lips met his, only that he’d been wanting this moment with her long enough that he never wished it to end.

^^^^^^

_The flowers weren’t terribly special. Wildflowers, better for color than style or beauty. He’d hoped she’d like them, and wouldn’t think him presumptuous to bring them. He’d heard a little about her through the grapevine. The wife of David, the coma-patient-turned-animal-keeper, who’d decided a fresh start would be better for her and her soon to be ex husband. She’d been upset the first time he’d seen her, and he’d thought a woman like her should never be so sad. He’d heard what she’d done to Mary Margret, and though he had his own thoughts on the matter, he knew it was none of his business whatsoever._

_Standing in the doorway, flowers in hand, he couldn’t quite bring himself to cross the threshold into her room. His thoughts kept circling within his head. This wasn’t his place. He didn’t belong here. She would laugh in his face for being so familiar. He almost turned to leave when a breeze hit him—went through him—magic coursed through him, filling his mind with light and memories and love._

_Abigail, his Golden Princess, lay in bed, hurt, afraid and he’d never known it was his job to be protecting her. “Abigail?” he asked, hoping desperately that he wasn’t the only one lost in the curse and found again._

_She turned, hope lighting her face and she made to get up out of the gurney “Fredrick!” she cried, reaching an arm out to him. “Fredrick we’re back!”_

_The flowers were forgotten at the end of the bed as he held her in his arms, re-learning the feel of her breath on his shoulder, her arms around him, and her lips against his._


	2. Blood on the Gold

The encroaching night found her walking alone to the monument of her love, torch in hand as she made her way. Protected from the weather he stood as still as death, and just as cold, waiting. Tears chilled as they fell down her cheeks, unchecked as there was no one nearby to see. Stilled forever, mid stride, he stood lower than her now, when once he’d always been tall. Resting the torch in a sconce she faced her knight. Her Fredrick, frozen in defense of her father, to stay here until the end of the world. Her fingers met the golden form of the knight who held her heart, and forgetting propriety and sense and her reputation, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sobbed. Deep, wrenching sobs shook her and she leaned for support against the man before her, despairing that he could never hold her back. She didn’t know how long she cried, nor after the tears were spent, how long she stood in silence. Her neck protested her hunched posture, but she barely noticed, lost in her sorrow. She traced one hand along his arm, a caress of warm, soft fingers against the frigid, unyielding gold. Against the vambrace, down to the gauntlet, and then retracing back again, over the pauldron until she was almost cradling his helmet in her hands. “Fredrick” she whispered, and pressed her lips to the visor.

She stood there as the moments dragged on, breath trapped in her lungs in anticipation. “No,” she whispered through clenched teeth as she pressed her lips to the slowly warming gold. “No, please. I love you, I do! Please come back to me” she repeated the litany as she pressed her lips to the visor again and again. “Fredrick, please!”

Her lips traced the edge of the visor as her lips moved towards the gorget encircling his neck. Again and again her lips rose and fell from her gilded lover, desperate for him to come alive and to kiss her back. Hopelessness raged inside her, fueling her anguish and making her careless. Her once tentative kisses became harsh and frantic, little caring where her lips met his armor, and it wasn’t until she felt the heat beneath her lips that she stopped. Pulling away with a gasp her eyes sought any sign of life and movement, until she saw the smears of red against his visor and chest plate. Blood, _her blood_ , dripped down his chest plate and her chin, bitter on her tongue. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she made little attempt to stop the flow of blood, transfixed by its stark contrast to the gold in the torchlight. What should have been sharp pain was barely a dull ache against the pain twisting in her heart.

“Fredrick, come back.” she moaned, throwing her arms around him again. “Please come back.”

She left as dawn drew near, a quite, silent figure with her hands to her lips. She kept to shadows and out of the way of servants until she made it to her bedchamber. The face looking out at her from the mirror held a thousand sorrows in her eyes, but she couldn’t dwell on them. The water in her washing bowl was deep pink by the time she deemed herself presentable. She could do nothing for the cuts, but as she held her head high walking into her father’s court, no one dared to ask what had happened. Grief hung from her shoulders like a mantle, but she would not let it bring her down. No matter how many nights, no matter what the whispers of the court were, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her broken. Only her Fredrick would ever have that intimacy.


End file.
